red is the color of a hero
by Eykiel
Summary: That was what Freud said to him all the time, but try as he might, Evan never really understood why, or what it meant. (AU, Siblings Freud & Evan. Additional notes inside. Oneshot.)


Hello! Just a note to set context before reading.

This fic was written to be centered around a certain line. One spoken by Ayano Tateyama from the Kagerou Project. It was not intended to further plot, but just to explore what could be a strong relationship between Freud and Evan, if they ever knew each other.

Hence, I took extreme liberties with the plot. In this story, Freud and Evan are brothers. And when I mean extreme, I really mean extreme liberties: Freud's timeline and Evan's timeline overlap here, and the war with the Black Mage has not yet begun.

So yeah! I hope you all enjoy my take on the relationship between two of the world's best dragon masters!

. . .

* * *

If there was one thing that Freud always told Evan, it was this:

'Red is the color of a hero.'

Evan never really understood.

Then again, he never really understood most of what came out of Freud's mouth anyway.

How could he? Freud stood so tall, he cast a shadow that Evan could never run out of. It was always Freud, doing the most amazing things, always Freud putting smiles on people's faces, always Freud cleaning up after the things Evan was inevitably going to mess up. They were related by blood, but they were so very different that if not for that fact, Evan wouldn't be where he was today, decked in his Dragon Master tunic and its gold lining, or wearing the heavy golden headband with its crimson crystal wings.

If not for that fact, Evan would have led a very different life. He wagered he would've turned out a simple farmer's boy, chasing foxes away and feeding hay to the cows and helping his parents with the crops when autumn came around. His parents would've turned out kinder, less harsh on him when he couldn't remember the facts about the continents like Freud could, maybe spared some kinder words for him when he woke up with nightmares that he could never match up to Freud, or they might've agreed to let him take off the burden of being one of the only two boys who could make pacts with the elusive, almighty Onyx dragons.

At times when everything felt too great for him to handle, he would run away - but never far, he never dared to go far - he would run to an abandoned foxes' den in the depths of the forest and then cry in the half-darkness where nobody could see his tears and chide him for being weak. He never wanted to be weak, he wanted to be strong - but what was strong? How could he be strong _enough_ for them, when Freud was the one setting the precedence and never even batting an eye in the face of all adversity?

He remembered the first time he ran away. He had come home late, with his eyes swollen, cold from the night chill, hungry because he had skipped dinner. Father had given him a dressing down and Mother had sent him to bed after making him force down every morsel of his cold dinner. Evan knew he wasn't in any state of mind to take another verbal lashing, but _no_ was never an acceptable answer and so he stood there and took it as best as he could - badly. He had slunk off to his room as quickly as he dared, taken off the Dragon Master's tunic with a heavy sigh, noting how the rich velvet had been torn in places and muddied where he had scuffed against damp soil. It stank of sweat and old fur.

That night he climbed into bed, feeling sorry for himself, when he heard the door open. He remembered the fear. Please let it not be Mother or Father again, didn't his tears say he was sorry enough already? Turning slowly around, he was only met with the gentle gaze of his brother, who was looking at him with some unreadable expression in his eyes. Evan looked away, sniffing. Freud hadn't said a peep earlier, only opted to watch everything out of the corner of his vision. A small part of him wished Freud had done something then, but a bigger part of him knew that Freud always had a reason for doing whatever he did, or not doing whatever he didn't do.

The remaining part of him hated Freud for it.

Freud took his hand, and gently tugged him over to the washroom. Evan choked back a fresh bout of tears as his brother took out the first-aid box and cleaned the wounds that had been opened by sharp branches. Why was Freud so gentle? He wanted Freud to say something, anything, so neither of them would need to hear his breaths hitching from crying so hard. Freud was on his knees, working at the soiled patches on Evan's calves with a soft towel, and applying bandaids on every patch of his skin that had been pierced by the biting edge of gravel. When he was cleaned, Freud rinsed the cloth and wiped the sweat and tears away from his face before gesturing to the mirror.

Evan didn't want to see the reflection, but it was Freud, quietly and wordlessly asking him to, and he couldn't say no.

Two boys, split images of each other, stared back at him. They both had slightly-messy locks of hair that looked like spun clouds from a summer sunset, sharp and well-defined features. He realised, slightly belatedly, that Freud was in his white pyjamas and the dragon master's headband was nowhere to be seen. His brother was so much older than he was that even on his knees he was the taller of them both.

He startled when Freud ran his thumb over his cheeks, tracing the bags under his eyes reddened and swollen from crying.

For some reason, some strange, accursed reason, Freud was smiling softly, and there was only kindness in his eyes.

'Red is the color of a hero,' Freud had murmured into the silence between them.

It was the first of many times Evan would hear it coming from Freud, and definitely not the last.

But what on earth did it mean? They stared at their reflections staring back at them, and Evan's mind raced but the only things that were red were his eyes, puffy and half closed from the crying and lack of sleep.

'Freud?'

He squeezed his eyes shut as his brother ruffled his hair and got up, packing the bottles of antiseptic and bandaids and hanging the towels to dry.

'Don't worry.' Freud had smiled down at him, and never before had Evan wanted to know so badly how to understand what red was, how to become _redder_ still, why red, why not gold like the lining of their robes, or royal purple like the crystal inset into their headbands, or the darkest shade of blue the sheen of midnight on onyx dragon scales.

'But I want to know what you mean,' protested Evan, as Freud took his hand and gently led him back to bed.

His brother didn't say a word more, but even in his weary, sleepy stupor, he knew Freud sat beside him all night with a comforting hand laid on his forehead, and Evan did not have a single nightmare at all.

It was as if that was the start of a new shade of their relationship. Things weren't ever the same. No matter how Evan pestered Freud, he wouldn't get an answer beyond a slight shake of the head and a fond smile, if he was lucky Freud would say, 'You'll understand eventually', but he needed to understand _now_ so he could become more the hero they wanted to be and less the boy who relied on the color of his tunic to be a hero in his brother's eyes.

And how he wanted to please Freud, his dearest brother Freud, who had probably gone and said something to Mother and Father behind his back. They disappeared from home for longer and longer times, and left Evan in Freud's care with little worry and something like relief as they bade Freud goodbye. Evan would watch the world's two best mages go with disinterest from his room, and wonder what it was about them that didn't allow them entrance to an Onyx dragon's mind, while he and Freud could.

He was more than happy to let Freud worry about the dismal state of his studies. Kind, gentle, calming Freud, who had an infinite patience and an even greater understanding, always guiding him towards the right answers and teaching him theories about this and that and everything and anything at all. It was probably child's play to Freud, but it was runes and ancient tongue to Evan and he couldn't understand how Freud could understand any of this!

It was a slow-going affair for both of them, but for once, Evan wasn't afraid to fail. He tried to answer everything wholeheartedly, thinking carefully over the answers before filling them in neatly - 'What would Freud do?' he would muse under his breath, when faced with something new. He so desperately wanted to prove something to Freud. Nothing to do with wanting to live up to what everyone thought he was able to, but something else entirely - he wanted to be the evidence that Freud was great enough to change him.

Evan _of all people_, he wanted them to say.

But when Freud picked up his pen to go over his work, he would watch his brows knit slightly, and watch the movement of his hand, mentally comparing the number of ticks he got to the crosses - and why did he always have more of the latter?

He really had been trying his best.

'But red is the color of a hero,' he'd pout when Freud handed him back his homework, scrawled over with lines and crosses and comments.

Freud would laugh fondly, genuinely - no trace of bitterness in his expression, or a single flicker of annoyance at hearing his line used so flippantly and out of context - and then he would say, with that calm smile on his face,

'It is indeed.'

Evan would do his corrections in green, listen attentively to Freud's explanations, and try his best to remember them for next time. But he wasn't ever that good at hiding his emotions, and he was sure that even his cheeky comeback wasn't enough to hide his gut-wrenching disappointment from Freud.

There were days when Freud met with the others of his alliance. To Evan, it was incredible that he had managed to unite these five strange, fierce warriors for a common cause. It had only been faint snippets of news, of rumours that something big and terrifying was on the horizon, but as Evan strolled along the town of Leafre with Mir whistling happily in tow, it was difficult to even imagine that anything would break the peace he knew at that moment. And yet Freud, proactive, dedicated, passionate Freud, had somehow convinced the five best warriors to join him in a fight to the death for a cause that none of them might ever return from.

The thought chilled Evan to the bone.

What was he going to do without Freud by his side?

So it was probably by luck that he chanced upon Hiver. Or perhaps it was the worst curse of history he had ever received. Freud had left for Ereve the day before and left Evan free to wander the towns, training and studying at his own pace, when that stately, clean-shaven man approached him and spoke with an eloquence that almost matched Freud's, offering him honeyed words that promised peace and order to the lands he knew his brother so desperately wanted to protect.

What luck, Evan had thought then. It wasn't every day that the opportunity to act as the hero would appear in front of him and give him the chance to fight the war by pulling the strings backstage. Evan contemplated. Pictures of Freud, bent over his desk late at night, or brow creased in worry as he tried to glean something new from the book he had perused a million times before, or the flicker of momentary surprise across his face before the weariness and the sorrow was gone, hidden from Evan with that gentle smile that was reserved for him only.

He would help Freud, whether or not Freud would ever know about it.

He just wanted to see Freud calm and relaxed again, both on the inside and out.

Wherever Hiver sent him, he went. With Mir by his side, he lay waste indiscriminately to the creatures that roamed the lands, collecting the scraps from their bodies that Hiver requested of him. He fought the nightmares and spent days collecting bloodied teeth from the walking dead, ventured deep into the seas of the East to hunt down pirates while battling the stormy frothy waves, planted runes in towns according to a little map Hiver gave him, dislodged seals and replaced them with his own.

He was so eager to take down the brick guardian in the toy town that he had failed to notice the series of locks and seals the toy golem triggered as its knees buckled with a groan. Immediately the ground began to quake.

There was barely the time to grab onto Mir's wing and teleport them both out before yellow bricks rained down around them, but nothing would prepare them for what they saw next.

Smoke, plastic dust all around, wounded toys screaming for help as they tried to support their brick houses with whatever parts they could find, odds and ends and torn stuffed limbs scattered across the ground, a morbid toybox of destruction.

And even that grand clocktower in the middle of the square, its rooms once the gathering place of leaders everywhere, lay cracked and smashed on its side. It was split cleanly in two, a broken dollhouse with some townsfolk still pinned to their chairs, unmoving figurines that bled freely - no, these were humans, not toys.

Through the smoke, Evan thought he had simply mistaken them. But it became undeniable as he went closer, they… they were…?

'Evan,' came a shout behind him. He spun on his heel, an apology about to leave his lips, vision going blurry so he couldn't see the features of the man in the crimson robes running up to him, framed by a mighty dragon of the deepest midnight hues -

I didn't mean to, he wanted to say, but the words couldn't come, he couldn't breathe, it was all he could do to keep breathing. The fiery hair, the slender frames of mages, the same weapons that were laid on the shelves of the armory at home, shattered and broken into smithereens across the yellow brick roads.

He was small again, trembling and frozen, making no sound at all as he tried to choke down air into his rigid lungs so he could breathe or maybe just try to squeeze out the smallest sound to tell Freud that he didn't mean to and he was so, so sorry -

But all Freud did was pull him closer, let Evan hide his face in his neck so he wouldn't have to look at the judgmental gazes from the other Heroes or from the horrified townsfolk or at the destruction and death he had just caused.

He glanced downwards and caught sight of their footprints, bloodied and marking the yellow tiles, the steps of an unholy sprint to the death.

'Red is the color of a hero,' whispered Freud into his ear.

He pulled away, eyes wide and shocked and disgusted and terrified, gazing up at Freud with his tears leaking down his cheeks. Freud, resplendent in his brilliant crimson robes and his calm orbs of ocean depths framed by the royal purple headband, met his gaze calmly and evenly. That sentence, why did Freud have to say that? He had just killed so many, while wearing matching robes to Freud's own.

It was only then that he realised that Freud had paid visits to every town he had just left, to right the wrongs he had done. He was so stupid, so stupid, how could he not have realised sooner? That he had been led on a wild goose chase, wrecking havoc that lay in the exact opposite direction to Freud's plans… and now this?

Yet all Freud had to say was this sentence - this sentence with its implicit understanding, its implicit forgiveness, and the unspoken, unconditional love despite _everything_ that Evan had done?

The only red Evan knew was anger, wild and untamed and cold.

'It is,' he whispered in reply, letting himself fold into Freud's arms, letting the man pick him easily off the ground and bring him home.

Evan felt Freud cradle his head with his free hand, angling his face so he wouldn't have to look at the destruction he had caused.

That night, even with Freud by his bedside, he dreamed of falling bricks the same crimson as a dragon master's robes.

The courtrooms of Ereve echoed too loudly and Evan hated every moment he spent there. He hated having all those judgmental gazes on him even before he even gave his testimony, hated how they smirked behind his back when he took his oath to tell the truth, hated how he stood out so starkly, blood against purest white marble.

But most of all, he hated the things they were yelling at Freud as he stood up for his defense:

'Are you sure we can trust you, if your own brother doesn't play by the rules?'

'He's killed so many. And he hasn't even been tried for the death of your parents yet.'

'And he claims that he was working under _Hiver_, who coincidentally is one of the key players off the Black Wings. Were you aware of this, strategist Freud?'

'Or are you perhaps planning to misuse your unique powers in the same way he did?'

How dare they.

They didn't have anything to ask when he stormed in the next day, death in his eyes. He was half a day late for his own hearing but he couldn't care less about that now. All that mattered was the black bag he carried in his left hand, as he wielded his bloodied staff in his right, and stalked over to the center of the courtroom, where Freud had been having a private conversation with the judge.

Freud knelt in front of him, not sparing a glance at the package he was holding, and asked, 'Where have you been, Evan?'

'Getting my revenge,' replied Evan.

He flung the bag angrily towards the jury and the neck loosened as it rotated in mid-air, spilling blood all over the floor in a streak to mark where it had flown. But it was heavy, and it couldn't travel far, instead skidding along the pale white floors and coming to rest in the middle of the room, the dead eyes of a strong-jawed man staring dimly towards the ceiling.

'Red is the color of a hero, right?' smirked Evan quietly under his breath. It felt great, throwing the line right back at Freud, as Freud spared a glance at Evan's bruised and bloodied arms, his tattered tunic, and then finally at the head resting on the ground.

'Not like this,' murmured Freud quietly in reply.

Evan felt the breath freeze in his throat.

'Is everyone convinced of where Evan stands now?' Freud was standing, walking calmly around the courtroom, the perfect calm to their silent horror, 'He risked his life to bring you one of the officials of the Black Wings, in a bid to prove that he works with us, not against us. Evan is -'

'Did you advise him to, Freud?' shouted someone from the back, and Evan could only stare dumbly, the curtness of Freud's earlier sentence jarring his mind so completely that he could not even muster indignation for the interruption.

'If I did, I'd have ensured he came on time,' replied Freud smoothly. 'No court procession can start without its key witness, and I wouldn't dream of wasting the council's time.'

The judge bade him wash up and he did so, as best as he could, with one of the winged guards watching him as he rinsed the blood off his arms. A split image of Freud stared back at him, eyes glazed over in what used to be all-consuming anger, but now dulled like an unpolished stone. There was still blood on his jawbone and he tried to get it off with his fingers but it wouldn't go until he scrubbed at it with the back of his glove.

He pulled his hand away when he realised that he was staining the glove that hid his dragon master's insignia with Hiver's blood.

What did Freud want of his heroes?

Evan didn't know, but oh, how he wished he did.

As they retired for the night, Evan took Freud's hand and squeezed it firmly.

'I wouldn't do it if I didn't know,' he whispered, in place of _I'm sorry_ because those two words never quite cut it any longer, with the things he had done.

'I know you wouldn't. Which is why I don't blame you.'

What didn't Freud know already, then?

Evan looked down. Freud's robes reached his shoes, and looked so much more regal than his own waist-long tunic. 'Do you know when's the right time to tell me what red is?'

The man let out a soft chuckle into the quiet courtroom, there was only the two of them left, in the candlelight and the soft pale glow of the moon.

'No I don't, but I know it is not yet right.'

It was perhaps the billionth time Evan had heard this from Freud, but he couldn't help feeling let down by the reply that was not a reply, as he was every time.

'Will you even tell me before you die,' whispered Evan, rolling his eyes.

Freud laughed and scooped him up, cradling him close. Evan wrapped himself around the man's torso, hooking his chin over his shoulder, clutching tight and feeling Freud's laugh reverberate through his chest. 'Maybe I won't.'

'You'd better! Or I'll… I'll hit you.'

'You'd hit my dead body?' Freud gasped so dramatically that Evan burst out laughing.

'Or kick you. Hard.'

Freud chuckled, tidying his papers with the hand that wasn't snaked around Evan's waist, and carried them both back to their temporary room in Ereve.

'Well, maybe if you can kick me back from the dead, I _might_ change my mind then.'

'Freud!' whined Evan, exasperated, which only made Freud laugh.

'Eventually, Evan. Eventually you will know.'

It was the first time since in a long time that Freud climbed into bed with him and held him close all night. Evan didn't question how Freud knew he wanted the comfort, he had long given up wondering about his mysterious brother and his even more mysterious ways. He just helped himself, pressing as close as he could to nestle in the warmth of Freud's arms, and was content to lie there listening to Freud's steady breathing until he drifted off to sleep.

Word of the war came the next day.

Everyone was helter skelter with panic and fear. Evan as well. But he held his head high and attended the meetings alongside Freud, who was as always, unmovable and unmistakably calm - it was almost as if Freud was calm on behalf of everyone else.

Including the five other Heroes. The mercenary with the soulless eyes, the elf queen with her haughty gaze, the strange and stern white magician, the snowy warrior with her icy piercing gaze, the blond thief and his seeking eyes like a magpie. They were so different from each other, and so different from Freud. So much more different from Evan himself. He cowered behind Freud as Freud outlined the plans for war, trying to pay attention to the blue pen going across the paper but it was even more difficult to with those five other fighters sizing him up and down like that.

'Don't worry,' murmured Freud to him when they had some time to themselves during lunchtime.

Evan paused in the midst of his sandwich, wiping some mayonnaise from his mouth on the back of his hand, only to jerk it away when his lips touched the fabric of his glove.

'I'm scared,' he said in a very small voice, afraid any of the other Heroes at the other table would hear him and look down on Freud for having such a weak brother.

Freud contemplated for a while. Evan could feel Freud's thoughtful gaze on him and it made him shrink into himself and become smaller than he already was. The hall was full of adults, some warriors packing food to send to the refugees who had been displaced from war, others busy wolfing down their meals and making loud plans about what armour and weapons to don.

'Don't be.'

Evan didn't look up even though Freud took his hand in his and held it firmly.

'I'm afraid too. But not scared. There's no point being scared.' Freud's voice was just loud enough for him to hear. He shifted over on the bench so he could let Evan lean against him. 'I'm afraid that the world will be destroyed, afraid that many people will be killed by the Black Wings -' the name sent a sour twist through Evan's gut - 'and afraid we will have made these sacrifices in vain.'

What was the difference between being scared and being afraid?

Evan leaned more heavily against Freud, but the man's heart was still beating at its normal pace, his breathing slow and measured, just as it had always been. Evan sucked in a deep breath to clear his mind and hopefully calm his own erratic heartbeat, but it didn't help in the room that stank so thickly of fear and anxiety that it seeped into his core.

'You'll be great, big bro.'

He gripped Freud's hand tighter and was reassured when Freud squeezed back gently.

'More importantly, Evan, I'm afraid I might lose you.'

His heart stopped.

Freud was looking down at him, and at that moment, Evan realised that he had never seen Freud sad… until now. Freud looked so old, so very old, so suddenly, and Evan felt so very small in the din and racket of the canteen and he just wanted to go back to simpler times when all he had to worry about was getting pricked on thorns and broken branches and let himself into the house late at night for Freud to fix his wounds.

Evan knew he was weak, but hadn't it always been his destiny to fight against the Black Mage with Mir on one side, and the last remaining Dragon Master on his other?

He had wrestled with his feelings for months, fighting down the fear that one day he and his brother might never be able to reunite again on these lands. He had to. There wasn't any other way. Good had to triumph, and good could not until Evan had quashed every single one of his doubts that he would stand up for his own in battle, even if it meant that he would have to put himself on the line.

Freud would have wanted him to.

'Don't be,' he smiled back up at Freud, nudging him playfully with his elbow, 'Mir and I have been training. We even took out Hiver, you know.'

'Ah, yes.' Freud chuckled, as if having forgotten that already.

'Yeah. So we'll be fine out there. Anyway if things really do go so badly, I have the six of you to protect me -'

The words died in Evan's mouth as Freud turned sharply to look at him.

There was only silence as Freud's mind worked, and then the man's eyes softened. 'You thought you were coming to the final battle.'

Huh?

'Aren't I…? Aren't I going?'

Freud pulled away, a gentle hand on Evan's shoulder. 'No, you aren't.'

'But… but we're a team. Aren't we supposed to fight the Black Mage together?'

'No,' said Freud gently, but the undertones of resoluteness were unmistakable, and those he reserved for when he was absolutely sure and there was no room for argument.

A part of Evan was relieved, so guiltily relieved, that he wasn't expected to take part in this war that was too great for him to even comprehend. He couldn't even believe that a war was happening _now_, even. But a bigger part of him, the part that knew Freud always did things with a justified reason, was angry.

'You're going to go to war alone? What if I lose you?'

The words were out before he even registered them, and Freud was wrapping his arms around his shaking frame as Evan began to cry into those thick robes the color a hero should be.

'You can't go. Please, big bro. You can't leave me alone here.'

'I'll be back before you know it,' Freud murmured into his hair, running fingers through them to soothe him, and Evan wished he could believe him like all the other times when Freud spouted nonsense about heroes and colors and related them to death and failed tests and things he thought he did right but didn't.

'What if you're not? I-I… I'm scared. You're the o… only thing I really need,' Evan balled his fists in Freud's clothes, wishing for once that Freud's favorite color was white or blue or yellow or green or anything, anything other than the color heroes needed to be. How he hated the color red, hated it even more on his brother, the way it made him look fierce and regal and ready to leave him behind.

Freud held Evan close as he shook and whimpered incoherently and fearfully into the rich silk. Something small clicked and he realised that all the plans Freud had made, there was no mention of Evan's name at all - he had assumed that he was to be by Freud's side all along. He knew Freud just wanted to protect him, but was it also because he was too weak? Was he too small?

Had he let Freud down, failed to grow bigger and stronger in time, before it was too late?

Was it already too late?

'Evan,' Freud whispered into his ear, 'I need you on the ground, helping to evacuate the townsfolk. You're a Dragon Master, and they'll respect your authority like they respect mine.'

He choked back his soft whimpers to listen to the soft breaths on the shell of his ear, a part of him carefully memorizing how Freud's words sounded like they were shaped with utmost care, even if they were in passing.

'You and Mir are strong enough to protect the people from any attacks we cannot stave off. And you can fly around quickly to pass messages about where's safe to go and where's not, and guide the people in that direction.'

He remembered the crumbling toy city, and realised that the other five Heroes were elsewhere, freeing the trapped, shepherding the unhurt, healing the wounded, all while Freud tended to him.

It needed to be done, and someone had to do it.

Even if it meant being away from Freud.

'Okay,' he whispered faintly.

He could hear as much as feel Freud's satisfied hum vibrating in his chest.

'Thank you, Evan.'

Freud's fingers snaked under his chin and gently tilted his head up, before Freud ran a finger along the bags under his eyes, just like the very first time when he was naught but a frightened, weak little boy with scratches across his knees and scuffled shorts and staring at his reflection in the mirror.

'Red…'

'… is the color of a hero,' murmured Evan into the silence, when Freud paused and said no more.

'Indeed it is,' smiled Freud. 'And you will do magnificently.'

Evan knew that Freud intended his words to give him courage, but it was so difficult to on the ship when everyone was tense and strung up for war. On the bowsprit at the very head, they stood and Evan enjoyed the feeling of the wind against his face, sneaking a glance at his brother and feeling a swell of warmth when he saw Freud, eyes closed and smiling softly into the breeze. They had always flown on their own dragons, and Evan had never gotten the chance to admire Freud this closely.

As he too closed his eyes and turned his face into the winds, he decided that dragon masters looked best with the wind streaking past their faces, overflowing with the feeling that they were on top of the world without a care between them.

'Look there,' Freud pointed and Evan turned to see troops marching on the ground, a sharp quadrant in perfect formation. Banners and flags were raised high, fluttering proudly in the wind, specks of color amidst a sea of silver armour.

And at their head, hoisted higher than all the others by a man on horseback, was a pennant, the triangular flag at its tip so white that it was almost radiant, and a bold crimson five-pointed leaf in its very center, representing the whole of Maple World, and everything that they swore to die for.

As the massive hull of the ship glided by, Evan could hear the townsfolk let out cheers and cries of encouragement and it sent sweet shivers down his skin. There were kids with red bandanas, red hats and shirts. Adults hoisting makeshift weapons in salutes to the grandest ship in the world, with red ribbons and handkerchiefs tied to the ends of shovels and rakes and anything to fight of the Black Wings if they attacked.

They passed by towns which were half destroyed, others that were intact, but all bustling with activity, healing the injured or in rescue missions, and in each town somehow they had set up a flagpole, and hoisted a flag to its top. There were flagpoles made of metal, others made of wood, or even just a pile of odds and ends and a plank sticking out the top, supporting flags made of stained tablecloths or hurriedly torn fabric, and the red leaf in their centers could have been paint or blood and they would be none the wiser.

'Red is the color of a hero,' whispered Evan to Freud.

Freud followed his line of sight, contemplated, and burst out laughing. Then he smiled gently, so gently like he had been dying to say what he said next, cradling the words in the back of his mind for when he finally could say them.

'Indeed! It is.'

Evan laughed too then, because he had been expecting a different answer, but by now he wasn't surprised to get this one.

They landed on the outskirts of Ereve. The soldiers moved out first, to aid in defense and in evacuation schemes, and soon the forests were devoid of noise, and it was only just the seven of them and two dragons left to meet their end.

Evan stood aside awkwardly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he was sure Freud could hear him. The other six of them looked _so grand_. He stole glances at Eun Wol's plain but intricate leather cloak and glimmering jade knuckle, Mercedes's fearsome bowguns notched to her hip and her silk-like ethereal robes, Aran's wicked polearm and her oriental armour, Luminous's simple habit and the strange shining rod he held loosely in his grip, Phantom's bold raven hat and his gem-encrusted cane, Afrien towering over them all with his scales gleaming proudly in the light…

… and Freud, decked in his royal red robes and his dragon staff tucked into his belt.

He fidgeted as Freud excused himself to come over. In the midafternoon sun, the ragtag bunch suddenly looked more than ready to lay waste to the Black Mage, and Freud had never looked more fit to be the world's greatest Dragon Master.

Evan flustered as Freud got onto one knee before him, what was he doing? He'd soil his robes even before the war started -

'How are you feeling, Evan?'

This wasn't a question Evan was expecting. He had rehearsed his answers in his mind, even to his brother he had to make sure he gave the perfect one, to try to ease the pressure just a little - but he didn't know what to say now.

_I'm fine_ sounded like such a blatant lie, but _I'm scared _was one that Freud did not need to hear, not right now.

'I don't know.'

Freud chuckled and squeezed his shoulder. 'At all?'

Evan shook his head. He didn't trust his voice.

'It's alright to not know how you're feeling. I don't know how I'm feeling either.' Freud smiled, watching as Afrien lumbered over to Mir and the two began whistling and clicking at each other in dragon tongue.

'Have you ever seen the others?'

'Hmm?' Freud tilted his head.

'The other dragons. There were more.'

'Ah. Yes. There were close to about a hundred of them, maybe more.'

'The Black Mage killed them,' said Evan quietly, as Freud nodded.

'He did. But Afrien managed to protect his younger brother, who is very happy even today.'

At that moment, Mir let out a piercing whistle and fluttered to Afrien's head, settling comfortably on the circular golden insignia there and curling up nose to tail.

'Did you ever find out why they chose us, rather than…'

Freud laughed quietly under his breath, eyes soft. 'Afrien said they'd know when they saw a suitable Dragon Master, and I don't question what he sees in me… or what Mir sees in you, either.'

'Well I wish I knew.' Evan felt his fists tightening by his sides. He was so nervous, he really couldn't help himself, he didn't know what he was talking about either.

'Not even I know, Evan. It's one of _those_ things, like why magic exists or why time flies or where foxes go to die.'

Evan huffed and hit Freud lightly on the shoulder. 'You said you wouldn't say anything about that time when I ran away into the forest.'

'I'm not saying anything!' grinned Freud. 'All I'm saying is, some things you just have to trust, even if they seem impossible.'

Things like his brother telling him he will be home after the war.

'Is trust red, then?' snickered Evan, taking the chance to finger his hands through a stray lock of Freud's messy hair, 'Maybe that's why you're a hero. Because you trust in yourself, and in me, and in a bunch of people you've only met for a few months.'

He caught Freud's lips twitch up in surprise, a bright smile slowly spreading across his features, claiming his mouth and then the corner of his eyes, and then the twinkle in the deep ocean depths.

'Maybe,' purred Freud, clearly pleased as he leaned into his touch, 'Just maybe, trust is also red.'

'Then I trust you, big brother.'

Evan made sure to control his breathing very carefully so it wouldn't hitch as Freud lifted his hands to grip his shoulders tightly.

'And I trust you, dearest brother. I have always trusted you, right from the beginning. And right now, I trust that you will do what you have to do, with the best of what you can give.'

Freud looked so grim then, that Evan just wanted to fling himself at him and hug him tightly and tell him everything was going to be okay, and it would be, because Freud would _trust _that it would be okay, and then it would be. But thoughts like that were always just thoughts, and they might mean nothing at all, when the war began to turn the tables.

He was shocked when Freud snuck his arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his embrace. But he had learned to take whatever Freud gave him, even if it was for absolutely no reason. And he couldn't deny that Freud's hugs were the best. He pressed himself fiercely against the man, any more and he feared he might crush Freud's ribcage and claim the war's first victim before it even started. And Freud held him for as long as he needed, until Evan had memorized the beat of Freud's heart and the feeling of Freud's arms around him before finally pulling away.

They regarded each other for a moment more before smiling. For once, Evan's heart was calm even in the face of something so terrifying he feared he might never come out the same again. And Freud, his big brother, the best Dragon Master in the world, the only other Dragon Master in the world, got to his feet and Evan swore he never looked more amazing then.

They almost said it, their favorite catchphrase, but there was no need for reminders, and they both knew the words by heart already.

Instead, they settled for a quiet confidence shared between them both, and it lent strength to Evan's feet as he ran over to Mir and mounted the saddle on his back. He turned back just in time to see Freud wave, before Afrien spreaded his vast wings and took to the skies with a flourish.

And then they were gone.

But they were going to be okay.

Mir and Evan turned and headed in the opposite direction. Before long they came to the head of the first contingent, and Evan was quick to take out the first few demons that came in sight. Their magic came easily now, fueled by confidence and their quiet faith in each other and the strange, unspoken knowledge that they each would give their best and nothing less. They paused to heal the injured, carefully rebuilt the seals and lent some magic to the magi who were in charge of defense, before Mir spread his wings to the sound of cheers and yells of good luck and they were off to the next town.

It was good that Evan and Mir were here. Creatures black and foul like solidified darkness came rushing out of the undergrowth, limbs uncoordinated and maddened bloodlust sending them tearing at the Halfings who immediately panicked and fled. They were coming from the edge of the forests as far as the eye could see, and in his frustration Evan and Mir flew up high, hovering in midair and searing a line of holy fire along the undergrowth, stoking up hungry flames that kept the monsters at bay for now.

Then Mir folded his wings, Evan pressed close to his back, and they plummeted down to earth.

Evan closed his eyes. Time slowed. His heartbeat calmed further to throb in time to Mir's, their thoughts melding and fusing, sparks of color against shades he had never seen before, through a dragon's eyes and a human's mind, even as the wind whipped around his hair and the inhuman shrieks grew louder and louder still, the presence of that evil intensifying in his skull.

When he opened his eyes, Mir did too. Mir's insignia was glowing fiery yellow, just as the mark was shining through his glove, as he raised his staff and began stabbing boulders from the ground itself, shattering lizard bones and skewering the bodies of others. Mir unfurled his wings at the last possible second, swooping so close he could hear jaws snapping at them, the wind veering direction abruptly as they spun and sent emerald bolts of electricity crackling in all directions. Bodies fell one by one as the Dragon Master who had finally, somehow, gotten the courage to rise to his namesake, single handedly defended several towns along the edge of the most dangerous forest in Leafre, slowly and methodically taking out the corrupted monsters that appeared.

The first rescue ship landed off course, blown off target by howling gusts that were too strong to be natural. Evan and Mir collapsed the ground around the ark, creating a makeshift hollow moat with a narrow pathway leading up to the ship's entrance. That way they could concentrate their efforts along the pathway instead.

Carefully, they guided the halfings into the ship, picking off the monsters that seemed too close for comfort. He was fierce and determined and he would never have imagined that the halfings would draw courage from the sight of a short boy in a red tunic, with an Onyx dragon by his side, fearless in the face of danger.

He was not fearful.

But he still worried. The dark skies were clouded over with the blackest clouds he had ever seen, thick and foul, with muted flashes of strange, searing lightning rippling across the folds. This was no normal manifestation of energy, and beyond that he was sure he could see just the faint pulsing of unholy, ethereal power that seemed to come from an entire dimension away.

The onslaught of creatures slowed just as they got the last of the halfings into the ship. Evan and Mir had personally flown the last baby in, and then shut and sealed the door with magic so no stray spells would leak into the boat. With a final wave and shout the ship let out an almighty groan and lifted into the air.

Just as the first swarm of black wyverns arrived on the scene. Evan and Mir shared a glance and took off after the ship, Evan aiming down his staff to take out the first few wyverns with a bolt of holy magic, pulling them right out of the sky. They weaved and spun in midair, Evan's mind whited out from the rush of adrenaline and a single thought of _protect them_ driving him and Mir to inhuman speeds and maneuvers and then faster still, crackling electricity and blasts of concentrated fire ripping through those blackened wings and sending them falling to the ground like flies.

But they kept coming. Two or three for every one that they killed, glinting eyes and gleaming teeth, so thick that the bloodied sky from fires and smoke was slowly being blocked out by flapping wings.

_Master_, gasped Mir, when a wyvern managed to nick the fibres of his wing.

Evan felt his eyes narrow.

A spark of fury grew inside him and he nursed it, the feeling of helplessness and inferiority, the fear that he might never be able to protect the people he knew he had to save, and the thought that maybe one day he would not be able to manage saving so many people in the face of any danger greater than this, these horrible thoughts growing and leering in his mind and racing down his arm and out his fingers to culminate at the tip of his staff in a single, brilliant flicker.

Thunder rippled across the skies, and then veins of searing lightning tore from the clouds.

In the blinding light, he saw flecks of broken wyvern corpses toppling from the sky. And then further on, a thicker, hulking form trying to stay airborne as it descended clumsily from the last layer of clouds.

His eyes widened as another flash of lightning illuminated its golden horns and the line of ridges down its back.

That was all he saw before the silhouette lost all strength and plummeted to the ground, its wings strewn behind in its wake as it fell.

_No._

With a final glance at the ship to make sure it would be alright, they turned and chased after the spiraling form. They had never flown this fast before, but they were powerless in the howling winds and the gales, the biting air making it hard to see. Evan let out a frustrated yell and gripped his staff, using the last of his energy to teleport across the skies and land in a tumble where the tree branches had been broken and Afrien's massive form crushed foliage against the ground.

The dragon's eyes were closed but he was breathing, very slowly. Evan could see his ribcage rising and falling faintly. Further down, his arm was sprawled as if he was trying to cradle something to him close but had finally lost the strength to when he blacked out.

Mir let out a cry and ran over to Afrien's muzzle, whimpering as he curled up on the dragon's insignia again from toe to tail, kneading the scales gently.

And Evan…

Evan couldn't breathe.

Freud lay slumped against in the nook of Afrien's arm, battered and bruised and bleeding, all shades of red running down his face, staining the whites of his unseeing eyes, matting the whites on the front of his robes.

Shaking, he slowly walked up to the reddened form, and saw Freud's chest heaving as he fought air down into his lungs.

'Freud!'

He skidded to a halt in front of Freud, throat constricted as he raised his staff and gripped Freud's hand, trying to take a pulse, surely his magic would work to stave off the bleeding just long enough so he could get to a medic. At his touch, life sparked in Freud's eyes, and the man let out a gasp and settled unfocused eyes on him.

His eyes softened.

'Evan,' he whispered.

'Freud, oh no, what happened to you? Let me -'

'It's too late. The Black Mage got them… he… he got everyone with a seal. In a few moments… you're going to be frozen in ice.'

'I don't care,' hissed Evan, focusing his magic and running his hand down Freud's torso, what kind of foul magic was this? His hand was trembling visibly from the exertion. 'You're going to make it out alive -'

'Evan…'

His hand slowed and he looked up.

Freud's voice was shaking.

'We failed,' Freud said, a strange bitter smile on his face, 'We didn't manage… to take him down like we… swore we would. When he… breaks out of his seal in… in the future… he'll kill more still -'

He was cut off by a breathless gasp and a convulsion as he turned to cough blood onto the charred soil. Evan pulled away, throat clenching, mind racing, what could he do? His magic made it worse. But Freud was dying. What was he supposed to do, in times like this?

When even the world's best Dragon Master could not do the job?

'They th-thought I was fit to be their leader… they believed in my plans… and it went awry there, so awry. First Mercedes fell, and then Aran… Phan… Phantom… and Luminous… They… they're… they're still there, trapped, alone in ice, and I -'

Evan pressed as close as he dared, gently taking Freud's hand and squeezing it tightly. With his fingertips, he gently worked the soot from Freud's cheeks, realising for the first time that this was a man who simply had too many troubles to bear, and he could bear no more.

That he had given all he had, and it had not been enough.

'Shh,' he whispered, leaning close so he was sure Freud could feel his breath ghosting across his ear.

And Freud fell still, fell silent, leaned thankfully against Evan for warmth and comfort.

'I can't feel Afrien any more,' he whispered, and his voice was hollow.

Evan could not even begin to imagine the size of the crevasse that had opened in Freud's soul. He leaned closer, propping himself up more firmly so Freud could lean more weight on him, and to his surprise Freud leaned over and rested his head gently on his shoulder.

The broken crystal wing of the dragon master's headband tickled his earlobe.

'I still trust you, you know, big bro?'

'Hmm.' Freud hummed quietly in reply and said no more.

'Yeah. I was fighting, and all I could think of was how you would be doing that too. Being brave, although you were afraid.'

'I was doing the same for you,' replied Freud faintly. He sounded so tired, like he was finally going to drop off to sleep after years of staying awake, and he was already set to go.

'I know you would, big bro.' Evan carefully reached over for Freud's hand and clasped it in his own, trying to ignore how it was so very icy cold. 'You always think of me even if I don't deserve it.'

Freud hummed again. But this time, he could feel Freud's cheeks moving to form a smile.

'I don't think you failed.'

Talk, talk. Maybe Freud just wanted to believe for a while more that he was not going to die just yet.

'I think you did great. Without your planning, none of the Halfings would've made it. There were so many monsters in the forest. And the towns in Victoria Island too, all organised because you did up the plans.'

There was only silence for a while. Evan realised that flaky black snow was raining all around them, silently and indiscriminately covering the land in a blanket for the dead.

'I wish I could have done more,' Freud murmured into the still air, fingers tightening around Evan's. 'It feels like I haven't done enough.'

Somehow, he wasn't surprised to receive this answer either.

Nothing that Evan said would ever convince him. That much he knew of Freud, even if he didn't understand a word from his mouth. Freud, empathetic, gentle, _stubborn_ Freud, always setting such unreachable standards for himself that he would never be able to reach them no matter how he tried.

Stupid, stupid Freud.

Evan reached over to Freud's face, gently running his thumb over the bloodstains and rubbing them free, dabbing tenderly at the skin as Freud let his eyes flutter shut and reveled in what they both knew was the last touch that Freud would ever feel.

When Freud cracked his eyes open again, Evan held up his bloodied thumb, steeled his voice, and as bravely as he possibly could, said this:

'Red is the color of a hero.'

He didn't really understand why Freud said it.

But he knew without a doubt why he himself did.

Red was the color of sacrifice, of blood spilled and staining the streets for a greater good. Red was the color of selflessness, in giving up life for the rest in times of need and all others besides. Red was the color of empathy, in being willing to mar clean hands in sins and dirt and blood if it meant touching just a single life even once.

Red was the color of a hero,

And Freud was all these things.

'Indeed, it is,' chuckled Freud weakly in reply.

'I'll r-really miss you, big bro.'

'I'll miss you too… dearest Evan. Don't cry.'

Fresh droplets began to stain those heavy red robes. Evan remembered balling his hands in them in what seemed like an eternity ago, and wishing that Freud didn't need to wear these red robes.

Now that he knew better, he couldn't deny that red really suited the man, even as he lay dying in a pool of his and his dragon's blood, his fluttering blue eyes framed by streaks of deepest crimson, the reddish leaves of Leafre's unforgiving forests reaching for the bloodied heavens above.

Later he would carefully slip from beside Freud's lifeless body, arrange him slumped in the nook of his dragon's arm, gather Freud's weapon and headband, and lean in the hollow of Mir's collarbone as his dragon curled around him tail to nose. He would carefully clutch the weapons to his chest, pat Mir gently on the head, and fight the curse of deep, icy sleep for a few moments more to gaze upon the broken body of the brother he would never see again.

For now, he was content to listen to Freud's breathing, which while laboured, still sounded steady. In another world, maybe he would never have gotten to say goodbye, or ever got to know Freud personally at all - but for now, he was here, and so was Freud.

He had learned what red was, just in time.

It was enough, just barely enough, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
